


Aletheia

by Morgane (smilla840)



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Angst, Episode Tag, Fix-It, M/M, Spoilers for 1x11, What's up with the cellist
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-09
Updated: 2014-01-09
Packaged: 2018-01-08 03:49:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,307
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1127983
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/smilla840/pseuds/Morgane
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>An op in Portland has unexpected consequences, leaving Phil with more questions than answers. </p>
<p>(Spoilers for 1x11)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Aletheia

**Author's Note:**

> **Warnings** : spoilers for AOS 1x11. You may also want to proceed with caution if you found the episode triggery, as this deals directly with what we learned in it.
> 
> This is my attempt to reconcile the canons from The Avengers and Agents of SHIELD re: the cellist. Am I the one who took “she moved back to Portland” to mean “we broke up”? 
> 
> I also borrowed the title from this week's Person of Interest but since they borrowed it from the Greeks first I figure that's okay :)

After his run-in with Raina, Phil finds himself thinking about Helen often. She’s never been far from his mind these past months, but now the guilt keeps him awake at night, plaguing him with _if-only_ s and _what-if_ s. It’s still better than the dreams though: when he’s not having nightmares about that machine, his brain makes him revisit scenes of past happiness, forcing him to remember everything he’s given up. 

One night, after too many hours spent tossing and turning, Phil looks her up. He’s not going to do anything stupid, he just wants to make sure she’s okay. Her current address is in Portland and it looks like she’s back with the Portland Symphony Orchestra. Phil’s glad. Helen had never liked New York and being surrounded with her family and friends can only help. It’s been almost a year since his death and he hopes she’s moved on. He wants her to be happy.

He wishes he could make sure, rid himself of that weight on his shoulders that’s threatening to drag him down. He’s just so tired these days, in a way that has nothing to do with how little sleep he’s getting – although that probably doesn’t help. He’s slowly coming undone at the seams, the memories of how he felt in that OR too much to deal with, and he thinks that if he could just put Helen behind him maybe he could breathe a little easier. He has to: he can’t give up now, can’t stop moving forward despite how much he wants to. He’s sacrificed his and Helen’s happiness to this new life and the least he can do to honour her is keep going.

Thinking about Helen inevitably leads him to Clint and Natasha who both deserve so much better than to be lied to about Phil’s continuing existence. Phil can’t even pretend his death left them indifferent. He knows they must have grieved, each in their own way, just as he knows his silence will hurt them when – if? – Fury finally tells them the truth. But they both understand orders and Phil can only hope they’ll forgive him. 

He tries to put up a good front with his team but it’s harder than it should be. He’s not doing a very good job of it and hiding in his office only makes them more concerned. He knows they talk about him when he isn’t around, trying to figure out a way to help him, and he should be pleased that at least his kidnapping made them closer-knit than ever. They’re everything he hoped they would be.

He can hardly bring himself to care.

\---

Phil dreams.

He’s at his apartment, quietly shutting the door behind him. He’s just come back from an op and it’s late, the kind of late that usually sees him pulling an all-nighter at the office because what’s the point of going to bed now, really? But he’s got someone waiting at home these days, and the giddy feeling that thought evokes is still too new for him not to seek it out at every possible opportunity.

He stops–

Phil wakes up.

\---

“Are you sure you’re okay?” Skye asks, hovering by his side. May flashes a light in his eyes and Phil tries not to flinch – he was just a little slow moving out of the way today, okay?

It’s been a month since SHIELD took down Centipede but Skye still looks dubious when he tells her he’s fine. Phil doesn’t know whether to be proud or annoyed. 

They’re in Portland of all places, wrapping up an op, and although May declares him concussion-free she insists they stay in town overnight. The Bus needs some TLC and restocking, she says, and Phil doesn’t care enough to argue. 

Until one hour later, when a ticket for the Orchestra appears on his desk.

Phil could ignore it, throw it in the trash and pretend it was never there, but he feels angry all of a sudden. How dare they meddle with his life? Do they think it’s easy for him? That he doesn’t want to see Helen, tell her he’s alive? Of course he does but he _can’t_ and this is not helping at all.

He grabs the ticket and goes looking for May.

“What do you think you’re doing?” he growls and she ignores his tone, looking back at him steadily.

“You need this,” she says and Phil vehemently shakes his head. 

“You had no right.”

Her eyes narrow. “I had every right. I’m the one who’ll have to tell the Director you got yourself killed because your head wasn’t a hundred percent in the game.”

Phil shudders involuntarily. He’s all too conscious of what might happen if that were to happen. He doesn’t want to go through that again.

“Look, Phil,” Melinda goes on, softer now. “There’s no harm in it. She won’t know you’re there. If you think there is even the slightest chance that seeing she’s doing okay will help you deal with everything that’s happened, you should go for it.”

She squeezes his arm and Phil relents with a short nod.

Apparently he’s going to the Orchestra.

He feels more nervous than he did on their first date as he waits for the lights to dim. He can’t remember what’s playing, just that Helen will be there, and his fingers drum on his thigh in a rare show of nerves. 

The room goes dark – finally – and Phil leans forward unconsciously as the musicians start taking their places, all his attention focused on one thing.

There she is.

Helen is smiling, happy in the way she always was when she was on stage _before_. She even looks the same and it’s almost as though Phil had never died. He should be glad and he is, except…

Phil has imagined this moment many times in the privacy of his own mind. Sometimes he goes to her and tells her everything. Sometimes he lurks in the background, watching her go about her daily life while she remains oblivious. The one thing common to all these scenarios is how he feels when he sees her, an overwhelming outpouring of love only marred by guilt and regret.

Here, now? He doesn’t feel anything.

Well, that’s not quite true. He does feel guilty and a little sad, but the love he expected is muted. It’s like seeing an old friend after a long time apart and nothing at all like the all-encompassing emotion that comes over him whenever he thinks about her.

Phil doesn’t know what it means.

Intermission comes almost as a relief and he escapes from his seat to wander in the hallway aimlessly. He’s trying to decide whether he should stay ‘til the end or go back to the Bus when he spots Skye, and why isn’t he surprised?

“What are you doing here?” he asks with a sigh, refusing to admit that part of him is glad for the distraction. 

She looks like a deer caught in headlights for all of two seconds before she smiles innocently.

“Moral support?” Phil shoots her a look and she drops the act. “Look, we were just worried, okay? And I’ve never been to a symphony before.”

“Technically it’s not a symphony,” Phil feels the need to point out. “It’s– you know what, never mind. Are you enjoying it?”

“I guess.” She doesn’t sound very confident and Phil shrugs mentally – it’s not for everyone. “Are you?” 

“It’s interesting.” 

“That’s… good?” Skye sounds tentative, clearly unsure what to make of Phil’s statement. “But you’re okay, right?”

“I’m _fine_ ,” Phil says, exasperation leaking into his tone. For some reason that makes her smile and she bumps into his shoulder companionably. It’s ridiculous but kind of nice too, and that’s the only reason why he doesn’t get angry when she asks:

“So which one is she?”

Phil doesn’t answer and Skye tries the puppy eyes look. “Please?”

He sighs. “The second chair.” 

She makes a face. “Yeah, but which one is that?”

Phil shakes his head. He’s already said too much and he doesn’t trust Skye not to run backstage to find Helen and announce his resurrection. She opens her mouth to protest but Phil is saved by the signal that marks the end of intermission. 

“Come on, it’s starting again,” he says and hears her mutter “not fair” to herself as she follows.

They go their separate ways after agreeing to meet outside at the end, which is how Phil finds himself standing in front of the Merrill Auditorium after the concert is over, waiting for Skye. Most people have left already and he’s starting to get concerned when he finally sees her hurrying towards him.

“I’m here, I’m here,” she says when he raises an unimpressed eyebrow. “You wouldn’t believe the queue to–”

“Phil?” someone says and Phil freezes. 

This isn’t happening.

“Phil, is that you?”

There is nowhere to run and so he turns slowly, expecting tears and accusations.

What he gets is a bright smile and a hug.

“It _is_ you!” Helen says as she steps back, not noticing how stiff Phil is in her arms. “I didn’t know you were in Portland. How are you?”

Phil opens his mouth and finds that he has no idea what to say. “Yeah, I– What? I mean, I’m good, how are you?” he finally manages, too dumbfounded to worry about the fact that he’s barely making any sense.

“I’m great. Did you enjoy the concert?”

Phil blinks and swallows back hysterical laughter. Here he is, exchanging pleasantries with his girlfriend who seems to have absolutely no problem dealing with the fact that he’s suddenly returned from the dead. 

“It was great!” Sky jumps in when the silence threatens to lengthen into something uncomfortable and Helen’s smile starts to dim. “Hi, by the way! I’m Skye, Phil’s… cousin.”

Phil nods dumbly in confirmation.

“Nice to meet you,” Helen says, shooting Phil a confused look. “I’m Helen.”

“Oh, I know,” Skye mutters under her breath. “I hear you and Phil used to be an item,” she adds, louder this time, and that pulls Phil back to himself.

“Skye!” he says sharply because who the hell knows what’s going on here? The last thing they need is triggering Helen or her memories. Is that even her?

Helen laughs.

“I did. Unfortunately it wasn’t meant to be. I belonged in Portland and Phil… well, Phil belonged to someone else,” she adds teasingly. “Is everything still going okay between you two, by the way? I haven’t heard from you in ages.”

What?

“Uh, what?” Skye sounds as confused as Phil feels and more than a little curious too, but now is not the time.

“I’m sorry, Helen, but we have to go,” Phil says decisively. “We’ve got a plane to catch.”

“Oh, okay. It was nice to see you again.” 

Phil gives her a tight smile. “Take care.”

“But…” Skye starts to protest and Phil grabs her arm and drags her back to the car. He doesn’t let go until they’ve reached Lola, although he doesn’t know if that’s to make sure she doesn’t go running back to Helen for answers or to ensure he doesn’t.

“So, that was weird, right?” Skye suddenly says after they’ve been driving in complete silence for ten minutes. “I mean, she didn’t even know you died. And who were you supposed to be with again when that happened?” 

Phil’s hands tighten on the wheel and he doesn’t answer. Of course it was weird. His and Helen’s memories don’t match up and since he’s the one with the tampered brain, it’s more than likely he’s the one remembering things wrong. 

Skye thankfully doesn’t press him for answers he doesn’t have and she keeps quiet for the rest of the drive. Phil’s mind is another matter entirely. 

The thing is, he isn’t even surprised. Why stop at Tahiti, after all? Why not rewrite an entire relationship? Still, what would be the point? Phil can’t figure out what SHIELD hoped to gain by it. It makes no sense.

There is one way to be sure and as soon as they’re on the Bus, he directs Skye to her computer.

“Can you do me a favour?” he asks and she nods cautiously.

“Can you find out when exactly Helen moved back to Portland?”

“Yeah, sure, that should take ten seconds. Here we go. Uh, boss?” Phil can hear the frown in her voice before he looks at her. “She moved three months before the battle of New York.”

Whereas Phil distinctly remembers them living together in the days leading up to the battle. Sometimes he hates being right.

“Boss? Do you know who she was talking about when she said you were seeing someone else?” Skye asks tentatively and Phil turns away to hide his wince.

He shakes his head, not trusting his voice for this one lie. Of course he knows. There is only one possibility, one person he’s been in love with since forever and whom his memories of Helen had led him to believe he had finally moved on from. 

But he doesn’t remember and how unfair is that?

\---

Phil dreams.

He’s at his apartment, quietly shutting the door behind him. He’s just come back from an op and it’s late, the kind of late that usually sees him pulling an all-nighter at the office because what’s the point of going to bed now, really? But he’s got someone waiting at home these days, and the giddy feeling that thought evokes is still too new for him not to seek it out at every possible opportunity.

He stops by the bathroom for a quick shower, wincing at the noise the pipes make. He puts his pyjamas on and makes his way to the bedroom, his stomach clenching a little in anticipation. He smiles at the sight that awaits him, the lump of covers on his bed taking up most of the room, and he wonders briefly whether he’ll ever get used to this. He hopes he doesn’t. 

He slips under what little duvet he’s got available to him and–

Phil wakes up.

\---

“We really need to stop meeting like this,” Streiten says when he gets into his car and finds Phil waiting for him in the backseat again.

Phil ignores him, going straight to the point:

“Last time you said you gave me memories of Tahiti. Was that all you did?”

Streiten hesitates and Phil knows.

“What. Did. You. Do?”

Streiten sighs. “You had broken up with your girlfriend a few months before. We thought that giving you pleasant memories of more time together, of a love you both shared, would anchor you back to life. You weren’t going to see her again, no one thought it would do any harm.”

Phil shakes his head bitterly. “You made me love a woman I wasn’t in love with and you didn’t think it would do any harm.”

Streiten turns around to look at him properly. “You’ve got to understand, Agent Coulson, we needed you to _want_ to live but by then you had already given up and nothing we did seemed to work. Living for someone else – _for her_ – was better than all the other alternatives available to us. We just… tweaked a few things.”

The thing is, Phil _does_ understand. He remembers the pain, so much pain, and getting to the point where he couldn’t stand it anymore. He remembers begging them to let him die and being ignored. Clint had been dead or as good as, and Phil had had nothing – no one – to hold on for, to make putting himself through this never-ending agony worthwhile. 

So yes, he understands and he has no doubt remembering Helen helped. Really, the doctors got everything right – except for the _who_.

“Tell me one thing, Doctor. If I had been seeing someone before I died, what would have happened to those memories?”

“Were you? It wasn’t in your file.” Streiten frowns and Phil has to grit his teeth to stop himself from saying something unwise, settling on:

“I can’t know for sure unless I talk to them.”

“But you think you might have been,” Streiten says shrewdly and Phil’s silence answers for him. “I am sorry then.”

“Are they gone? The memories?” Phil asks. He has to know.

“I don’t know. I can only speculate…”

“Please do,” Phil interrupts icily.

“They could be gone. Or they could just be suppressed. They could also have been incorporated into the new ones, as a way for your brain to make the memories we gave you more real.”

“You mean Helen would have replaced my new partner in my memories of them.”

“Yes, exactly. The brain is a fascinating organ, Agent Coulson.” 

Luckily for him, Streiten seems to realise Phil is in no mood to learn how amazing the human brain is at the moment and wisely doesn’t launch into a lecture. There is only silence in the car for a moment or two, and then Phil asks:

“Is there a way to find out for sure?” He holds little hope as to the answer and indeed his fears are quickly confirmed.

“I’m afraid not. There _is_ the machine Centipede used on you but I cannot recommend it given the circumstances.” 

Phil recoils inwardly at the thought. He doesn’t think he wants to put himself through that again, not for anything.

“Thank you, Doctor,” he says and gets out of the car.

There is someone else he needs to see.

“What the fuck are you doing here?” Fury barks when he finds Phil in his living room. “I almost shot you!”

“You need to talk to the Avengers,” Phil says calmly, ignoring the gun pointed at him – though he feels better once Nick puts it away. 

“Regarding?”

Phil shoots him an unimpressed look. He isn’t in the mood for games. “I’m giving you an opportunity to come clean before I talk to them. You can use it or not, but we both know what hearing from me first will do to their relationship with SHIELD.”

Nick pours himself a drink, waving the bottle in Phil’s direction and shrugging when Phil shakes his head. He downs it and refills his glass before taking a seat opposite Phil.

“Where is this coming from?” he finally asks after studying Phil for a minute.

“I know what you did.”

Nick inclines his head slightly. “I know. Streiten called me last month after you paid him a visit. What’s changed since then?”

Phil waves off his comment. He knows Nick knows, just like he knows the file he suddenly got access to was far from complete. That’s not what he’s talking about. 

“I know what you did about Helen.”

“Ah.”

Phil’s point exactly.

“I was seeing someone before I died,” he says. “Or at least I’m pretty sure I was.”

Nick looks at him expectantly. “Well? Are you going to make me guess?” he asks irritably when Phil doesn’t elaborate.

“Yes, I am. I promise you, you’ll get it in one,” Phil snarks.

Nick blinks. “Barton? Seriously?” 

Phil nods.

“Well, fuck me,” Nick mutters before downing his drink again. “I can’t believe you landed Barton and actually kept it to yourself.”

That’s… completely beside the point.

“You’ll tell them?” Phil presses and Nick looks slightly put upon even as he agrees.

“Yeah, yeah, I’ll tell them. But if Captain High and Mighty gets on his high horse, you can deal with him.”

“Fair enough.”

“You’re going to have that drink now?” Nick asks, settling more comfortably in his chair.

“I will.” 

“Well, got get it then.”

Phil doesn’t thank him and Nick doesn’t apologise. There is no need for that between them – they understand one another. Fury will always do what he thinks needs to be done, regardless of the consequences – to himself or anyone else – and Phil will always back him up – up to a point. If things hit a little closer to home this time around than they usually do, there is no reason to mention it. 

\---

Phil dreams.

He’s at his apartment, quietly shutting the door behind him. He’s just come back from an op and it’s late, the kind of late that usually sees him pulling an all-nighter at the office because what’s the point of going to bed now, really? But he’s got someone waiting at home these days, and the giddy feeling that thought evokes is still too new for him not to seek it out at every possible opportunity.

He stops by the bathroom for a quick shower, wincing at the noise the pipes make. He puts his pyjamas on and makes his way to the bedroom, his stomach clenching a little in anticipation. He smiles at the sight that awaits him, the lump of covers on his bed taking up most of the room, and he wonders briefly whether he’ll ever get used to this. He hopes he doesn’t. 

He slips under what little duvet he’s got available to him and the lump moves.

“Hey, you’re back.”

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you,” he whispers and gets a sleepy kiss in return.

“I don’t mind.”

He reaches for the light so he can see–

Phil wakes up.

\---

The Bus’s been parked in SHIELD’s New York base ever since Phil talked to Fury. There’s been no new assignment and Phil tries not to think too hard about the implication but the wait is making him anxious and restless.

It’s been over a year. What if Clint is seeing someone? What if he doesn’t want to give Phil another chance? What if Phil is making too big a deal out of this and it was nothing more than a casual fling for Clint? What if _Clint_ thinks that’s all it was for Phil? 

What if he’s too angry that Phil let him believe he was dead to want to see him? Relationship or not, they were friends first and it must still hurt. Plus it’s not like Phil can blame it all on the memory loss since he never contacted Helen when he believed her to be in Clint’s shoes. He’d like to think he would have a different call if it had been Clint but maybe he’s just lying to himself.

Then there’s how Phil feels about Helen. He’s been trying to sort it all out in his head but telling himself that love was manufactured by SHIELD doesn’t make it any less _there_. What if he can’t move past it? What if he can’t love Clint the way he deserves because of it? What if he really missed his shot at a happy ending?

Phil’s in his office overthinking the whole thing while pretending to be doing paperwork when May’s voice comes through the comm.

“Coulson, you’ve got incoming,” she tells him.

“Who is it?” 

“Looks like Barton.”

Phil nods to himself – now or never, then. He stands, adjusting his suit, and pretends his hands aren’t shaking a little as he closes his office. The common area is blessedly empty – suspiciously so? – and Phil has a second to wonder about that before Clint comes bursting into the room. He is slightly out of breath and Phil has the rather whimsical thought that he ran all the way from HQ. He’s also the most beautiful sight Phil’s ever seen and for all his resolve Phil finds that he can’t take another step. 

Luckily Clint can.

Phil is suddenly pulled into a rough embrace, strong arms holding on to him tightly, and he belatedly returns it just as desperately. He’s been a fool, he thinks, to believe that whatever SHIELD put in his head could withstand seeing Clint in person again. God, he’s missed him.

“I’m so mad at you right now,” Clint whispers against his shoulder, his voice thick with emotion, and Phil has to swallow past the lump in his throat before he can say anything.

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.” He would apologise forever but then Clint steps back and Phil shuts up. He keeps a tentative hand on Clint’s arm, unable to bear the thought of letting go entirely, and is ridiculously pleased when Clint does the same.

“Fury told me. You really don’t remember, do you?”

Phil shakes his head. He hates that he doesn’t. “I remember being in love with you, before. And then nothing.”

Clint hides his flinch badly and Phil involuntarily tightens his grip on him. He can’t stand that he’s the one hurting Clint – again –, but as always the man surprises him, squaring his shoulders and looking him right in the eye.

“Can you… I mean, do you think that maybe… you could fall in love with me again?” Clint says and happiness makes Phil a little lightheaded. “I mean, not right away. I guess it’ll probably take some time, but if that’s okay then we could–”

Phil’s free hand comes up to cradle the back of Clint’s head, putting an abrupt end to his babbling. For a very long second they stare at one another, and then Phil leans forward carefully and presses his lips against Clint’s. This kiss is slow and exploratory, and maybe a little clumsy on Phil’s part but that’s only to be expected considering he doesn’t remember the ones that came before. There is a whoop somewhere behind them before the culprit is shushed, and Phil makes a distant note to have a word with his team later.

But for now:

“I don’t think that will be a problem,” he tells Clint and finally feels like himself again.

\---

Phil dreams. 

In his dreams there is his apartment and his bedroom and someone in his bed. 

In his dreams he never finds out who it is.

But then he wakes up and he doesn’t have to wonder anymore.

He knows.


End file.
